A Time For Wolves
by Alejudis
Summary: Six months after the defeat of the Wild Hunt, Geralt of Rivia had settled down and retired from life on the Path. Finally content to live out the rest of his days in peace, fate however, would have another twist. In the midst of a new age, the witcher is offered a contract he couldn't refuse. All he has to do is help a young boy he met long ago. Rated T for now. 100% ON CH. 2.
1. Prologue: A Time For Wolves

My attempt at a Witcher and DanMachi crossover.

 **Six months after the defeat of the Wild Hunt, in the midst of a new age Geralt of Rivia is offered a contract he couldn't refuse.**

 _With the ashen-haired woman now safe from the Wild Hunt, Geralt had decided to set down his swords in exchange for a calm, quiet life far, far away from the troubles of the world. The former witcher was content to live out the rest of his days in peace, but fate would have another twist. The fame of the White Wolf had stretched beyond the borders of the Continents, and it had been only a matter of time before someone would seek his aid…_

* * *

 **A** **Time For Wolves**

* * *

 _13_ _th_ _day of Birke, 1266_

* * *

He ran. He willed his legs to carry him as fast as it can. Behind him a pair of figures vaguely humanoid chased him through the forest as a young boy ran for his life.

"H-Help, grandpa! Anyone!"

Everything became a blur as his sole focus was to survive. He didn't want to die here. Looking back, he began to pick up his pace when he saw how close they were. Maybe a meter or two? He wasn't sure, but he'd rather not find out. These things couldn't be reasoned with. Nothing except a painful death would come if he stopped now.

"H-Help—!"

He stopped when his face collided with something hard. He fell back, forgetting for a moment what just happened.

"Watch out, kid."

A voice. It was both rough and grave, but undeniably masculine. With a head of white hair falling on his shoulders. He wasn't sure who it was, however. Definitely not his grandfather.

"Stay behind me."

He picked himself up, remembering what was behind him. Seeing he had no other choice, the boy quickly hid behind the man's legs. He uttered a small prayer to the gods for granting him this good luck. Very good timing, indeed.

The man pulled out his sword. Strangely, he was carrying two on his back. "You're lucky, kid. Just so happened to be here when you came along," he muttered coarsely.

"T-thank you, sir! You have no idea, I-I thought they were gonna get me!"

"How'd you end up with drowners anyway? Didn't your parents tell you to stay away from swamps?"

"Y-Yeah, but— watch out!"

It was all for naught. The white-haired man dodged the drowner's claws with a pirouette and struck the creature's head, cutting it off with a single blow.

"Amazing…" the boy said in awe.

The second one tried to avenge its kin, but it was quickly put down when the man moved forward and impaled his sword into its chest.

"What's your name, kid?" his savior asked. He returned his sword to its sheathe.

"Bell… Bell Cranel," Bell replied. "A-and you're…?"

"Geralt of Rivia. Now kid, mind telling me where you're parents are?"

* * *

"Ah, the famed White Wolf. I have heard much about you…"

"G-Grandpa!"

Bell left Geralt's side and bolted for his grandfather. As he looked at the old man, he noted there was something different about him. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on. His instincts told him to be wary.

The old man smiled. "And I see you've brought back my grandson. Bell! What did I tell you about wandering off too far?"

"I-I'm sorry, grandpa!" Bell yelped, crying into his pant's leg.

"You know how dangerous it is to go out on your own. I have no choice, you are not allowed to leave the house for the rest of the week."

"What?! B-but—!"

"Bell," his grandpa sighed. "You had me worried sick, if not for this man here, I dare not think what would've happened to you."

' _Reminds me of Ciri,'_ thought the witcher. Both mischievous and stubborn. The boy was almost a striking image of her, except for the eyes.

"Grandpa…"

"I wouldn't punish you if you didn't deserve it. It'll teach you not to do that again. Now run along now, I must speak to the man."

Bell heaved a heavy sigh. Not liking his punishment one bit, he marched off home with his head stooped down in silence, quietly muttering a few words of the unfairness of it all.

Geralt chuckled.

"I suppose you expect some form of payment…?"

"Normally I would invoke the Law of Surprise, but gold's enough for now," Geralt assured.

"Fair enough, I owe you a debt. Come with me." He signaled Geralt to follow him. They walked together then, leading Geralt to his home. Although when he wasn't looking, the witcher would cast a glance at the old man. There was definitely something strange about him. Certainly not a monster, else his medallion would've been humming. There was silence between them until the old man spoke.

"So how'd you end up in these parts, witcher? Quite a journey from the North," he began. "A few weeks ride?"

"I'm used to it. Got a job with good pay. Wouldn't be here otherwise," Geralt replied. Straight to the point. He still didn't trust him.

"I see. You must be well travelled, as a requirement of your craft."

"Hmm."

"You know, my grandson… he dreams of having the same freedom."

"Huh," Geralt snorts. "Believe me, he's lucky. Some would even prefer the company of a leper than a witcher."

"I'm not talking about that. What I mean is…" he stops. "Tell me, witcher, do you know the stories of heroes?"

Geralt almost blinked in surprised. "You're kidding…"

"He's but a child, he doesn't understand."

"We are not heroes," Geralt grumbled. "We kill monsters for gold. We expect payment for the things we do, and we don't do anything for free. Innocent or not, we generally don't involve ourselves in the business of other people." As in 'generally', he himself wouldn't stand for any sort of injustice.

"You're missing the point," he reiterated. "What I meant was… the freedom to do anything you want. To do what you want to do. To have an adventure. Become a hero to be remembered forever. That's what Bell dreams."

"A foolish one, if I may admit. Those tales belong in books. Nothing is as it seems in our world. You either die, or fight to live another day. Nobody has that freedom."

"Well, it is your opinion, but I believe in him."

"And why's that?"

"Your cynical view of the world. You forget what defines humans. It is the ability to adapt and create. What separates you from mere animals and monsters, it is the ability to bring wishes to life. To work for a dream, no matter how long it would take. It is what makes you extraordinary."

They were silent after that, but Geralt still wasn't convinced. He had seen enough of it. While there were those kinds of individuals, it was rare and few between. The world was a dark and twisted place, and prejudice was a monster even worse than the creatures he hunted. Even the greatest of men can stumble and fall. What he doesn't realize, during the course of time people forget. Grand efforts built over the years being lost in history. It didn't matter what you did, as long as there was evil in the world, nothing would change. The dreams of that boy — it would only get him killed.

"We're here," the old man announced, pointing to a wooden cottage. "Wait here, I'll fetch the coin." Geralt nodded his head.

He waited for a few minutes, but eventually the man returned with a small pouch.

"Here, your pay." He handed the coin over to the witcher. "And thank you again for saving my grandson. Good luck on the Path."

"Thanks. Farewell."

The old man watched as the witcher departed. Most likely to return to the North. Remarkable Geralt may be, he was also disillusioned, embittered from his struggles. Like the world was out to get him. Unknown to Geralt, as soon as he was out of earshot, the old man laughed.

"My boy, you'll understand one day. I'm sure you will both meet again."

* * *

 _Seven years later._

 _Orario. 20_ _th_ _day of Imbolc, 1273_

* * *

"Hah, I did it…"

A sharp pain shot up through his bones. What was he thinking, pushing himself to this extreme? For someone like him who just started out, time was on his side, so why did he need to prove himself?

It was simple. He hated being weak.

"I can't forgive myself, if I don't do anything, then I'll never catch up to her."

The memories of that time came flooding back to him. He never wanted to relieve the experience again. It was embarrassing, haunting, and it taunted him for how useless he was. Someone like him couldn't stand to her greatness. Not until he has surpassed them all. He must exceed his limits.

"I have to do it, I have to do it all. A weakling like me has to work twice as hard. Just remember _him_ …"

He picked himself up. Each breath was becoming a struggle now, and the taste of copper danced on his tongue. He had been fighting for hours now. But he had to push on. He was nothing otherwise. A man without worth.

Bell wanted to be cool like him.

"Huh? What's that?"

Several dark figures rose from the ground. "War shadows?"

They surrounded him. Featureless as they are, their forms were covered in shadow, except for a single red eye in the middle of their forehead.

Bell studied his opponents as he readied his knife. "I've gotta keep going. I can't stop here. I'm still too weak… TOO WEAK!"

He charged and attacked with a ferocity of a wild beast. Like a hot knife through butter, his dagger cut them down without much resistance. It didn't matter if they outnumbered him, he wouldn't be fazed. An unbridled desire fuelled his actions. He wanted to reach his goal, and one day prove himself to her.

It wasn't until the morning came did Bell finally stop to rest and chose to return home. Mostly because it would be suicide if he kept on going. During his run he managed to fight all manner of beasts, and each battle added more wounds to his body. A cut on his head caused blood to leak from his scalp, however, it wasn't serious.

"Hey look, it's that kid again…"

"Doesn't he learn anything?"

"Stupid rookie. He's probably pushed himself too hard and screwed up…"

As he left the dungeon, he would attract a few odd looks from other adventurers for his disheveled state. Bell ignored them still. He chose this path. It didn't matter what they think of him. He wanted to be strong, strong enough nobody would ever look down on him.

Bell stumbled as he willed his body home. Pain coursed through him like a shock of electricity jolting him awake. He thought about his goddess, she must be worried to death about him. He hadn't returned home during the night, or left any letter to tell her where he was. She must've thought the worst had happened. Bell cursed himself. He shouldn't get riled up over someone else's opinion.

Eventually he reached his home, a run down church in the ruins of an old town.

"Bell?"

He recognized that voice all too well.

A girl, looking no older than sixteen, ran up to him. She was a petite young woman, fairly small for someone her age. Yet, what she lacked in height, she certainly more than made up for with her womanly assets.

Bell smiled to assure her he was okay.

Then he fell, his body no longer having the strength to support him.

Luckily, his goddess was there to catch him.

"Bell! What…?" she said in worry as he began to cough out blood.

"Hestia-sama…" Bell began. He thought back to the white-haired man, how amazing he was. He forced his head up, looking her in the eyes, and gave her a bloody grin.

"Will you… will you help me with my dream?"

It was a great request. She wanted to say no, to tell him off and not to risk himself like this ever again. The thought of losing him, it was too much. But looking at him, she was reminded of a time long past. For Bell had the virtues only a rare few possessed. Qualities more powerful than any form of strength. Despite her concern, and the treacherous path Bell chose for himself, Hestia could only smile back at him warmly.

"Of course."

She was sweet music to his ears.

"Thank you, goddess…"

"I'll always believe in you, Bell. I—" Hestia blushed. "Hahah, don't worry. L-Let's get you cleaned up."

She helped lift himself up, supporting Bell's weight by placing an arm over her shoulders. Hestia would catch the scent of his sweat, a pungent mix of heavy perspiration mingled with his blood. It recalled the smell of adventurers who returned from a long, arduous journey.

"You really stink, Bell," Hestia frowned, making a face when she took another whiff of his stench. "You'll need a bath."

"Ah, sorry, goddess…"

* * *

He wasn't far now.

It was by luck he was able to gain some information about this place. If he hadn't come across a few travellers, he probably would've wandered in the wilderness more than he would've liked. He figured, once he reached the capital, he could meet up with his contact, since whoever it was failed to meet with him at the designated location.

"Whoa, slow down, Roach."

About a kilometer or so away rising above the forest canopy was a city that instantly reminded him of Novigrad. It was easily his destination, and quite impressive if he may admit. Despite the brief and relatively few dealings with the people of this land, Geralt had heard much about the fabled city of Orario and how, from what he gathered, its sheer wealth and its treatment of its residents would put most of the kingdoms of the North to shame. Along with the abundance of individuals called 'adventurers', the tales he had picked up from his long journey birthed a genuine curiosity of the many aspects of this country, though there was one main piece of information that stood out amongst all.

In any case, with the current circumstances if this news reached his homeland there would no doubt be drastic consequences, but surely would anyone believe him? It was certainly possible the Church of the Eternal Fire had always been aware, but kept it as a very closely guarded secret known only to a select few. Knowing her, Geralt was certain even Yennefer would rebuke it as superstition and a simple, over-religious fantasy, and since he hadn't bore witness to it yet himself he still thought it absurd. Thankfully, as a witcher, there were many factors that made it difficult for his words to carry any sort of weight. Very rare were there times where he was rather grateful for his condition, in fact. After all, there were some folk who would prefer the company of a leper than a witcher.

Now that he thought about it Geralt was filled with a small mixture of amusement and fear. Ironic when it was also so true. Knowledge indeed held power. If his people were to learn their deities have descended from the heavens permanently, it would be a revelation. A momentous event in their history. However, by choosing instead of rather than gracing them with their blessings, the gods have all but abandoned the war-ravaged North for another. An unforgiveable betrayal that would shake the world unlike anything ever felt before. It would incite madness so profound and devastating it could only lead to the worst possible outcome. More than a simple civil war or invasion/expansion of territory, but a bloody crusade that would only end with the destruction of an entire way of life. A spark quickly transforming into a sea of fire—

"Hmm?" He was torn from his quiet musings when he heard a faint rustle of leaves to his right. It was probably an animal, as he would suggest. Wolves maybe? He found monsters were less subtle. Taking a closer look, however, he didn't miss the gleam of a polished blade as it glinted with a dangerous light.

"Haaaah! Get him, boys! Easy pickings!"

They jumped out of the shrubbery on either side of him. To most, they looked menacing. The fact they outnumbered him made it appear like he would be quickly overwhelmed. They were seven in total, with most armed with a bladed weapon, either a sword, dagger, or axe, and one interestingly stood behind another member with a bow cocked with an arrow.

"Hold it there, stranger. You have something we want…"

Geralt barely batted an eyelash.

"Stand down. You'd rather not deal with me."

There was a ruthless and dangerous edge in his tone, but it was either ignored or put aside as a dead man's folly, fueled perhaps from their larger numbers. Besides, desperate men show their claws when cornered. Rather than cower away in fear, the bandits merely laughed. "Did you hear this cunt?! Who the fuck does he think he is?"

The witcher scowled. He pulled down his hood, revealing stark white hair and a pale, scarred face. He had a rather rugged, but handsome appearance suggesting he was in his mid to late twenties, but that was far from the truth. Decades of experience weighed heavily on his shoulders as he held himself with poise which spoke of many battles, both grand and small, and a deep, intimidating scar travelled down from above to below his left eye. Speaking of his eyes however, were the witcher's most notable trait and what would normally draw anyone's attention. To the people of the North, a clear indication of his identity and profession. Instead of regular round irises, they were narrow and slitted, shining with a bright golden color, which seemed to define his entire existence.

"I'm a witcher," Geralt growled. "You don't want to piss me off. Get out of here and make sure I never see you again."

There was an immediate indication his message had hit home. At the mere mention he was a witcher, the confidence they previously showed, just as quickly it had come it had gone in an instant.

"M-Master witcher? This… this is perfect!"

"What?"

Maybe his age was catching up to him, but he could've sworn these bandits were praising the heavens at the sight of him.

"And-And not just any witcher, the White Wolf himself. Geralt of Rivia!"

"Please sir, can you do us a favor?"

While completely dumbfounded, Geralt still managed to keep his composure. This was witcher business. He would admit, he had been caught off guard, but he quickly moved on. It was still one of the strangest things he had seen in a while, but he would put it aside for more important matters. He had a very clear idea of what they had in mind.

"Depends on what's it about. Monster problem?" Geralt asked.

"Aye, 'tis is, master witcher," one of the men replied. Geralt assumed he was their leader. "A brother of ours, went with a group of young'uns to the forest." He shook his head. "None ever came back."

"You're all brothers?"

"Born from the same mam, but from different fathers. All eight of us, now seven."

Geralt nods his head. "I see. So where is this monster?"

"He'll be in that hill." Barely peeking over the tree line, Geralt spotted a grass-covered hill not too far away although by foot, would be a considerable distance to walk. By his estimate, the distance would be around two kilometers. "A real menace, that one. Said to have killed over a hundred men. He got eyes like a dragon, and so fast you'd be dead before you even pull out your sword."

Geralt snorts. "Hmm, doubt it. Anything else I need to know?"

"Aye, 'tis isn't the first time we found someone willing. A couple of days ago us boys found us a group of soldiers, said we'd pay 'em to rid us of the beast. They reckoned they could do it, get a bit of glory, so they grabbed their weapons and set out…" he pauses. "Came back later to find 'em all dead. Whatever it was, they didn't stand a chance. This thing is more than us folk. Realized we needed a professional, clearly, so we all chipped in for a small reward, hoping someone would help..."

"Until you found me. You're lucky, there aren't many of us left…"

"And a damn shame that is," he laughs. "Well, master witcher, would you help us? Help us avenge those young'uns?"

Still mounted on his horse, Geralt gave a glance to the group before he made his decision. "Fine," he grumbles. "I'll take the job. Now let's talk about my pay."

"O'course, sir, no witcher ever does anythin' without the coin. We been saving up, you see. We be wantin' to get us some real adventurers before from the Guild, get revenge for lil' Johnny. You bring us its head, and we'll pay you handsomely."

' _Same as always…'_ He had guessed right. A standard job. Typical witcher contract. It was fine as long as he was paid, as was every time a witcher was involved. He would also admit old habits played a hand too. Besides, a bit of extra coin wouldn't hurt.

"Alright," Geralt finished. "Well then, I'm off."

"Good luck, master witcher."

* * *

The entrance to the cave was a gaping hole along the side, close to the peak of the hill. It hadn't been particularly hard to find. The ground was soft, and there were fresh tracks left behind by the monster, alluding it had recently gone out to hunt. Geralt was certain this was its den. A putrid, thick stench originated from the darkness, like something had been long dead but was still decomposing. Littered along the entrance were leftovers and remains of what looked to be human, with stacks of bones, chunks of rotted flesh, and dried blood caking the dirt. Pieces of torn clothes, and scraps of shattered weapons and armor looked to have been thrown in random spots.

One item in particular caught Geralt's eye. He knelt down to get a better look. A suit of heavy armor, or what remained of it, leant against the wall next to the empty husk of what used to be a man. Examining its features, it appeared similar to most of what he found, and it shared many aspects which indicated the identity of the monster. Like the others, the armor was bashed in, especially in the chest. As if something large and heavy had slammed into the metal. Numerous holes coated with dried blood also littered the chest plate. A couple of swords, meanwhile, were strewn across the floor, some of them snapped in half.

Truly, this was a job fitting only for a professional.

Piecing together this information, Geralt was quick to narrow down the facts. He held little doubt as to what he was hired to kill.

"Hmm, large, deep dents in the armor means it was hit by something big, something heavy, and these swords... snapped in half like twigs. Holes in the chest are irregular shaped, punctured through the steel. And the bones, mangled, most of them broken. Interesting," Geralt murmurs. "This is definitely a fiend, but there's something here… a letter?"

He barely noticed it in the corner of his eyes. It was a tiny thing, easily missed if he hadn't stumbled upon it. There was a small note clasped in the hands of a skeleton beside the armor he was examining. Geralt took a glimpse of it, his curiosity piqued, and his mood gradually darkened the more he read its contents. What he would do if he just turned back around now, but he'd have nothing to gain. He made a mental note to deal with it later.

Geralt whistled for Roach to come and the horse immediately sauntered over to its master. He wasn't far, as Geralt allowed the horse to graze in the field in front of the cave. Reaching into a sack strapped to the side of his mount, there was a small chime before Geralt slowly pulled out the item he was looking for. It was a small, brown case, and upon opening it were several glass vials each holding different types of liquids of some sort.

He picked one up, and popping open the flask he put the tip to his lips before quickly downing the strange liquid. For any other person, consumption of a witcher potion was notoriously lethal, extremely poisonous to anyone who weren't tolerant to their toxicity. Even the weaker brews were fatal to ordinary humans. Hence once it was empty, Geralt hissed. It barely took a moment before he could feel the potion start to take effect, forcing itself through his bloodstream and further augmenting his enhanced eyes. Veins in his neck and face began to protrude from his skin, and the entirety of his vision began to change. Everything became clearer and more defined. Instead of looking at the pitch-black interior of the cave, Geralt could see perfectly through the darkness, as if it were midafternoon on a clear, hot summer day.

"Funny, just like when I killed that alp…"

Reaching into his back, the witcher unsheathed his silver sword. Crafted from a master elven blacksmith in Novigrad, it was undoubtedly a grand and intimidating weapon. Various runic sketches were inscribed onto the blade, providing a distinct glow to the weapon. Each rune offered a special effect, strengthening and giving versatility while increasing Geralt's attack power against monsters, humans, and non-humans. Unlike traditional swords, the guard carried a unique appearance, its shape pointing upwards into a V, continuing with a sleek, black leather grip which held three round rings through its center. Adding to the final touch was the sword's pommel, finishing with the heads of two wolves crossing over each other.

Geralt made a step, and slowly he ventured into the deep, dark abyss. As he walked through the cave, the stench became more powerful, almost unbearable to his enhanced senses. He could tell he was getting closer to its nest. The putrid odor meant the monster had hunted and killed many before, dragging its victims here to devour or to save them for a later time. Meaning it had long settled in this place. Geralt knew better than to complain about the smell however, as it wasn't nearly as bad as one of his old contracts. Fighting waist-up in sewage, covered in filth in a sewer while hunting a zeugl… nothing gets better than that.

A deep rumble suddenly echoed through the cavern. The monster was home, it seemed. Good, he thought, he wouldn't have to wait till dark for it to return. Picking up the sounds of the fiend's movements, Geralt focused his witcher senses to better locate his target. It took a moment, but Geralt was able to pinpoint its exact location by listening to the signs, and he guessed the monster had also sensed him. The fiend wasn't far now.

Without warning however, did the monster strike first.

"Come on," Geralt rumbled as the fiend reveals itself to him. It had stepped out from its nest to confront the witcher in order to defend its territory. Sensing the danger this man possessed, the fiend released a long howl of terror and aggression, warning the intruder it did not intend to let him leave with his life.

Amongst monsters, fiends were known to be one of the most dangerous creatures known to man. Similar to appearance to chorts, fiends were more ferocious, larger, and shorter tempered. Regarded as walking mountains of muscle, they were capped with sharp horns and tooth-filled heads. This one in particular, possessed pale skin and brown fur over its front elbows and on its back. In the center of its forehead was a third eye, which can lure its victims in a state of hypnosis.

These creatures were not for the inexperienced hunters. Even for a witcher, to take a fiend lightly was a death sentence. As far as Geralt knew, he was in for a tough fight.

The fiend proceeded to encircle Geralt, watching his every movement as Geralt followed. Each were waiting for an opportunity to strike the first blow, looking for openings in their guard. Combining incredible speed, strength, and a single-minded desire to kill, one strike from their paws could kill the witcher if he wasn't careful. Examining and waiting who would make the first move, it was the quiet before the storm.

Thankfully, Geralt didn't have to wait long.

He was forced to roll out of the way. Quickly standing back up to regain his guard, if he waited half-second too soon he would have been ploughed into the ground by the fiend's charge. Sensing an opening for a counterattack, Geralt stepped forward and twisted his body, sending a powerful upwards strike with his sword to the fiend's side.

"Argh," Geralt grunts. The powerful force of his strike had been hard and true, a deep cut sliced through the monster. Blood spurted from the wound as the beast howled in pain, a few droplets dripping into the ground as the beast retreated.

"As bandits in Velen say, 'I'll make remains of you.'"

Geralt continued his assault and took the initiative. He sidestepped as the fiend tried to swipe him with its paws, and Geralt made a fast, swift cut on its shoulder. Bringing his sword back, Geralt proceeded another dance, this time slashing the fiend's left forearm before twirling and sending a powerful strike to the monster's neck.

Blood splattered on the cave walls before Geralt took a step back, avoiding another potentially lethal hit this time from the fiend's horns. This thing was strong, he could tell, as though he had damaged it, fiends were also notorious for their healing abilities, and could quickly recover the wounds. In addition, it seemed to be getting angrier the more blows it was being dealt. Bringing his sword up to retain his stance, Geralt knew this was only the beginning.

They continued their exchange, with Geralt rolling out of the way or sidestepping when the fiend instigated an attack, always ready to provide a quick counterattack and attacking the vital areas. The head, neck, throat, back, sides, calves of its feet, all easy areas that made the creature stumble and stagger, Geralt aimed for these spots specifically, and at one stage the fiend's skin even caught on fire. An effect of one of the runes on Geralt's sword. Once struck, a spark is ignited on the opponent's body, burning them until it is put out.

This went on for a while, and as Geralt performed another combination of blows, it seemed victory was his. He dodged, lunged, attacked, counter-strike, pirouetted, thrust, jumped and cut, maintained perfect footwork, he combined all forms of maneuvers of witcher swordsmanship, all mastered exceptionally many decades ago. Moves which turned into a ruthless and deadly dance. Unlike the grace of a swan, it was the ferocity of a wolf which fuelled Geralt. Each strike was swift and powerful, effective and dangerous.

Impaling his sword into the ribs of the fiend, Geralt was sure he had stabbed its lungs. Pulling out the sword and making a quick twirl, he brought his sword down heavily on the fiend's face, blinding it by slashing one of its eyes. He then took a step back, moving out of the way as the fiend retaliated with desperate aggression. Geralt examined his work, bringing his sword up to guard. The monster was sure to fall now, either by his hand or it would succumb to its wounds.

Preparing what could possibly be the finishing blow, they encircled each other though this time blood dripped from the fiend's body. As expected, the fiend once again tried to run Geralt through with its horns, but the witcher expertly sidestepped out of the way. With its neck exposed, Geralt was ready to complete another hunt—

Suddenly, to his surprise, the tables were turned on him.

Towards the end of its run the fiend had slowed, and having been caught wide-open, he was left defenseless. Using the might of its horns, the fiend held none back in its strength as it smacked Geralt in the chest and sent him the flying into a wall.

"Shit…" His back smashed into the rock, but he was lucky nothing was broken. A rookie mistake. He supposed this was the price for being overconfident. He had pride in his abilities, after all. Back in Kaer Morhen, Vesemir would be rolling in his grave.

Geralt found the fiend wasn't finished with him, as not a second too soon, the witcher was surprisingly forced on the defensive for the first time. Having to commit to a forward roll away from its enraged run, the beast was becoming relentless in order to take its revenge.

Backpedaling into a corner, Geralt attempted to lure it in order to gain some ground and free himself to attack. The plan seemed suicidal, as it risked himself and a mistake would only make matters worse, but a short pause was all he needed to land the finishing stroke. As he used his sword to parry one of its paws away, Geralt watched as the increasing desperation and anger of the fiend finally overtook any reasoning it may have had. It thus only had one option. A more refined weapon and dangerous weapon which defines this monster as a force to be reckoned with.

It was over.

The fiend was opening its third eye.

Geralt reach for something attached to his belt. This was what he needed, what he was waiting for. The perfect time to finish this and fulfill his contract. A Samum bomb was the key, and if he timed it right, the monster would be disoriented and have no time to defend itself.

In its rage the fiend attempted to lure Geralt into its hypnosis, hoping to catch the witcher in its spell and draw him to his death. To the untrained, this tactic may have worked, but Geralt was ready and prepared, and to quote his old mentor:

" _Never pounce on an advantage as soon as it appears. Wait till it stands to have maximum effect."_

"Age does beget wisdom…"

Feeling the magic of the eye beginning to meddle with his mind, Geralt threw the bomb at the fiend's face. It was certainly painful to watch, but he felt no sympathy for the beast. There was a loud pop as the bomb exploded in a flash of blinding light, and having been thrown directly at the eye, the fiend howled an agonizing scream. Having been exposed directly at such intensity, it was as if its eye was torn straight out of its sockets, and Geralt knew its pain must be unbearable. Blood leaked down its snout, and the beast, forgetting the immediate danger of the witcher, sought to remedy itself as soon as possible.

Geralt wasted no time. Stepping forward then letting his body spin into a lethal pirouette, the witcher's sword flashed before he brought it down on the monster's throat.

Just another job on the Path.

* * *

"Monster's dead. It was a fiend that killed your brother. Must've wandered too close to it's cave, but I avenged him and those kids."

Geralt tossed its head to their feet. As was customary, presenting the trophy gave evidence he completed the job. Since most folk were not trusting of witchers, they would normally require some form of proof they hadn't been cheated. Notorious were the tales of witchers who were paid to rid a poor village of a monster, only to find later the problem still exists, with the scoundrel having run off with their coin. This didn't mean every witcher should offer himself for free, or failed to be paid an adequate reward. Indeed, a witcher's service required some payment— else anyone who dares faces a terror even more horrifying than monsters.

"Hahah! Thank you! We are in your debt, witcher! Here, your reward—"

The witcher put a hand up. "Hold it." Geralt stops him. "There's something you're not telling me."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"You lied to me." Geralt frowned in disapproval. He reached for the letter he found in his pocket. "Recognize this? You knew about the gold – must've thought you'd get away with it, did you?"

He was caught red-handed. So close too. Having been exposed as the fraud he was, Geralt's contractor had no choice but to admit defeat. There was no point in hiding the truth. If it weren't for that blasted thing, that bloody letter, the witcher would've never picked up the lies. Doing it for revenge? Him and his bleeding heart—

"What's it to you? I hired you to kill the beast, not debate ownership of what isn't yours." He shrugged his shoulders. "You did your job, now get out of here."

"You don't tell me what to do," Geralt hissed. He walked up to his face, eyeing the man threateningly. His contractor took a step back. "Say one more thing and I'll cut off your tongue. Give me my gold. Now."

Being forced to comply, he really didn't have a choice. To try anything now might even cost him his life. If he had any common sense, he understood his predicament. The great weight of Geralt's words fully sunk in, and he was fully obligated to follow with his threat. What, and who, could stop him? A group of lowly vagabonds who barely received any formal training? The scent of sweat emanated from his pores. It was as if he was staring at death itself. The stark white hair, pale skin, and those eyes — bards would sing ballads of the famed White Wolf, and he was but an ant to his legend.

He reached for his belt, and Geralt's eyes followed for any signs he may act aggressively, waiting for the first indication. More times than he could count did a man attempt to unsheathe his blade against him. In return he would act with aggression. The witcher was relieved somewhat for his contractor's sake when instead the man pulled out a pouch. Not that he would hesitate in putting them down, he just didn't see the need to have any blood spilt. He recognized, moreover, the man would rather face the gates of hell than continue to be in his presence. Despite attempting to put up a brave front, Geralt could see the small signs of unrestrained fear, the first indication from the uncontrollable shaking of his shoulders.

Taking his reward, Geralt was adamant to remind him of his mistake. "Some words of advice," he began. "Never try to cheat a witcher. Ever. Don't follow me, or I'll kill you."

As swift as the wind, Geralt turned without a second glance and mounted on his horse. With the city now within his sight, he beckoned Roach before they sped off down the road, following the path to fulfill a promise he was destined to keep. Maybe it was the strings of fate calling him here, but he felt a certain connection calling for him. _Just like that time_. As they say, as something ends, something begins.

Now was the time for wolves.

* * *

"Ah, I've been waiting for you," announced a man as Geralt walked into the bar. "Long journey, yes? I apologize for not meeting you earlier, but something came up so quickly, I barely had time to breathe."

Geralt took a seat next to him. "You're the one with the contract?"

"You bet, but first, introductions," he said, lending out a hand. "Hermes. A pleasure it is, Wolf."

They shook hands as Geralt acknowledged him. "Likewise," replied the witcher.

"You must be hungry," Hermes remarked brightly. "You're lucky. This place is a fine establishment. Excuse me! Mama Mia! We're ready to order please!"

A woman whose size would intimidate any man perked up and attended to them. Having a look at the strength in her arms, Geralt considered she was a former warrior prior to retiring as a proprietress.

"What would you two like?" she asked.

Hermes nudged his companion. "You go first, my friend. Order anything you want on the menu. Please, I insist. It's my treat. I must make up for my mistake, and it would insult me if you don't."

Geralt nodded. "All right, then."

* * *

"So before we begin our business, was your meal to your liking?"

Geralt was at a loss for words. Never before has he felt this sensation. Never again would he look at food the same again. This taste… did it come from the heavens? No longer would he be satisfied from half-cooked meat and unrefined meals. By combining food and creativity… it was truly a masterpiece.

"Hmm."

"Geralt?"

"Hmm."

"I think we've lost him!" Hermes laughed. He took a swig of his drink.

"No, just thinking," said the witcher gruffly.

"Oh? I see. Does that matter concern how divine our Mama Mia's cooking is?"

"Shut up and get to the point."

"My, my, you hurt me, master witcher. No need to be so moody. Not one for jests, yes? Very well," he said, now looking at Geralt seriously. "Do you remember the silver-haired boy you saved many years ago?"

"One in particular comes to mind."

"Bell Cranel. Only a few know this. The man you met before, his grandfather? He was never his relative." Hermes smiled. At the sight of his smile, which bloomed on his boyish face like a child tasting the fruits of a good harvest in spring, Geralt was reminded of his ward almost a decade ago.

"That boy… the path he walks will change the world."

"Meaning?"

"He is in possession of something very extraordinary. A powerful ability that would bring about the coming of a new age, or bring this one to an end."

' _Could it be…?'_ "A form of magic?"

"Not quite, but something more akin to a miracle."

It sounded too eerily familiar. Like a link to the past, though he doubted they were related, Geralt was reminded of Ithlinne's Prophecy, and the events spiraling afterwards.

"What do you expect me to do? Take it from him?" Geralt quickly narrowed his eyes. Like Ciri, who had no control over these events, this boy would be brought into the same conundrum which plagued his ward for years.

Being seen as a tool, a pawn in a bigger game.

"Of course not. We want you to hone him."

"And that's all? Don't lie to me. You're motives… they're still unclear to me. I'd rather see him dead than used as a pawn, hunted not for who he is, but for what he has. If you think he's just some—"

"Whoa, you misunderstand. Calm down, Wolf," Hermes cut in. "We merely wish to guide him to his potential, but unfortunately there are those who wish to claim Bell for themselves. At his current level of strength, he is unable to properly defend himself. All we require you to do is to teach him how to look past his weakness."

"And that's it?"

"Pretty much."

"Hmm. Something tells me you aren't telling me everything." Geralt folded his arms and glared defiantly at the blonde man. "You know, people have tried to cheat me before, and each time, I don't take very well of it. Us witchers are used to shit bounties, to the cheating, to them begging us for help, then spitting as we pass. It happens every time. Schemers, frauds, and swindlers, to name a few, are the worst among scum. If you're lying, setting me up for something behind my back, you'll wish you never met me. I don't care what you are. God or not, I hear anything against me, then you'll see why a witcher's reputation extends beyond monsters."

The threat hung in the air. A pervading sense of danger emanated from the witcher as he glared at Hermes with absolute severity. To him, political manipulation and the machinations of people were the worst the world had to offer. And he was sick of being caught in a web of deceit and lies. If he were to choose, he'd rather not choose at all. As he made his intentions known, there was silence between them. Not an inch of fear was present within Geralt's being as he stared down a god.

"Pissed you off that much, huh?" Hermes finally asked.

"Experience speaks for itself."

Hermes nods. "Fair enough. I'll respect your wishes and will keep them in mind. I suppose things happened on the road which I am unaware of?"

"You could say that," Geralt confirms.

"Explains your sour disposition on the matter. Very well, you have my word. Not that you need it, anyway. Believe me, our intents are pure. We only wish to see Bell grow to become the fine individual he is destined to be," affirms Hermes. He looked at Geralt sincerely. "It has been a long time since heroes roamed this land, maybe now is the time for them to return."

"As long as you keep your word, you have nothing to worry about."

"Good to hear. Now, cat's out of the bag, I must extend you a warm welcome to our great city. Orario, the city of dreams and adventure! When we're done, I insist on showing you the sights, but first, you up for a pint?"

"Hankerin' for a drink or two," Geralt shrugged. "Sure, I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Excellent. I must warn you, however, I am one who enjoys his alcohol," a sly grin slipped his lips. "Bet you can't hold your liquor like me."

"Oh yeah? S'pose you can handle it. Let's see how you go with 'The Gauntlet'."

"What's that?"

"Equal parts spirit and white gull. A friend made it." He could imagine him patting himself on the shoulder.

Lambert always was a prick.

"The 'Gauntlet'? My friend, this will prove to be interesting…"

* * *

"I see everything's in order?"

"Yes, my lady, all the pieces are moving into place…"

"Excellent, we may now begin."


	2. Act 1: When the Dawn Comes

_A massive thanks to Cardinal Grief for going over this chapter. Cardinal's been a massive help to me and for some really good, upcoming stories, I would recommend visiting him and checking out his stuff!_

* * *

Five adventurers bowed before their goddess, the deity sat upon her throne and looked upon them with both love and longing.

"What are we to do with him, Lady Freya?"

Four of them were armed with different weapons; a sword, a spear, a hammer, and an axe, while the fifth, who was considerably taller than his companions, stood apart from the group.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" Freya sighed deeply. "How fortunate we are, it only makes me more… ecstatic."

"My lady?"

"He brings us both charm and delight. I wonder what this will mean for our little adventurer…" she placed a hand on her cheek, while her other arm wrapped itself around her body in a sultry embrace. "For that man to appear, Geralt of Rivia…"

The tall one scowled. "He's an abomination. A freak."

"Such harsh words, my dear Allen. What troubles you?"

She looked at him with curious intrigue, beckoning him for a response. "He deserves nothing more than a quick death, my lady. The least of all your love. For someone like him… someone with no honor, they don't deserve to live!"

Allen's hands shook as he grasped his spear with a tight, firm grip. Anger seeped from him, an ominous aura putting his four other companions on edge. Normally, he was not so easily angered, but the thought of those bastards, how they roam the lands freely and without restraint, he'd sooner hunt them down himself if not for his love for his goddess.

"Witchers… are nothing but an affront to everything I stand for. They have no motivation, no cause for justice. Nothing irritates me more than people like _them_... the bane of every adventurer's existence. Witchers only work for themselves, my lady. They would kill anything solely for gold, nothing more..."

Confessing his feelings on the matter, there was another, deep-seated hatred Allen Flomel had for witchers. While he had not been wronged in any way before, the mere thought of those freaks, how they coerce people for payment when their duty was to protect them from monsters, the injustice was too much. The whole lot of them, he knew, were nothing but greedy sell swords and unnatural freaks, men who would steal children from their families to build their ranks. He also vaguely remembered not too long ago a witcher had assassinated a king in a far off land, spiraling a string of events leading to all-out war and the near dissolution of an entire country. Allen could only imagine the horror and devastation to the people and their suffering, the poverty and war-torn lands filled with blood and death. Born from the greed of a man who couldn't care less than filling his coffers. For all its worth, there was nothing good about witchers. No matter where they walk, there would always be sorrow. Heartless monsters like them brew trouble wherever they go.

He swore, if a witcher touched his Lady Freya in any way—

"You may be right, my love, but this man, this wonderful specimen, he is both different and very much the same as you all," stated the goddess, earning a shocked look from her beloved child. "A sword of destiny, one with two edges. One who fights for those he loves, but has no love for the world. His actions point to a dark path, but he has overcome it with strength and an iron will. Can you see? He will bring me the utmost pleasure, a worthy champion. I only wish to see what his presence will ensue…"

"I-If that is your wish…" Allen trailed. He felt himself sweat when he heard his goddess moan.

"This excites me." A blush adorned her cheeks. Freya cupped her cheeks and licked her lips; she was without a small degree of hunger. "The wheels of fate have begun to turn, and we shall bear witness to something extraordinary. One, who is no longer bound by his destiny, is now fanning the flames that will light the next generation. A new age of heroes. Heavens forbid, this is too much."

Various thoughts swam in her head; she imagined the boy and the witcher kneeling before her, pledging their utmost allegiance like knights swearing loyalty to their king. She would look upon them with love, her most prized possessions, as they killed and fought for her wishes, bringing her glory and fame one could only dream of. A familia whose adventures and exploits would be sung like the heroes of old. And when they would retire, setting down their swords for the night, they would fall into her arms as she lead them into the warmth of her bed—

Freya widened her eyes. "Ah, this is certainly unexpected. Why do I… feel such insatiable longing…?" she mumbled. A strange feeling coursed through her, and the goddess of love felt the inner side of her thighs grow hot. "My body is... absolutely delighted, like a young girl who's experienced love for the first time. Such things haven't occurred to me in quite a while. And I'm dying for some relief. My dear adventurers, may I ask a request?"

The five of them nodded. "Of course. We live to serve you."

"Yes, the pleasure men can provide is like the finest wine. My loves, tonight marks the beginning of the first act. As I'm feeling rather famished, and as a token of my good will, I will allow you all to join me in my quarters. I promise, for there is nothing to worry, as you are but a small number compared to the hundreds that once warmed my bed. I shall grant you none but the greatest sensations mortals could only dream of, for I fear I cannot contain myself any longer…"

Their mouths watering at the prospect, how could they deny such a tempting offer from one who embodied the very sin itself? While sharing would be very awkward, the goddess was but the living form of what one can experience from the pleasures of the flesh. Like a living aphrodisiac who can charm you with but a touch. In their minds, to reject her advances would be extremely foolish.

"If that is your wish, then we shall gladly oblige."

"Indeed. Come. Fill me with your love till I am satisfied. Let us enjoy ourselves for a night of debauchery and foolishness before the dawn comes. There's little doubt I won't have much time for you all when the hour arrives. Now, my dearest, come to me."

Allen stepped forward, and quickly, she threw her arms over his shoulders and pulled his lips into a hungry kiss. He stood there, shocked at how bold his goddess was. Her lips were hot, soft and yearning, but had a dominance within them that ensured she was in control. As the goddess of love, it would insult her if she were anything less.

They remained there for a while. Feelings of lust enveloped him, and Allen felt himself grow particularly hot in certain areas. Was it her magic? He couldn't tell, but if it were, who in the world would have the strength to resist? As her tongue made its way into his mouth, Allen attempted to catch up and match her rhythm, but he melted to the sounds of her passionate moans as he was caught in his goddess' perfection.

"You are getting better at this," she praised amusedly as they separated. Unlike the deity who controlled the very essence of love and desire, there was no challenge. He was but a mortal, after all. As soon as he felt his lungs begin to cry for air, it wasn't long before he was forced to separate.

"I grow hungrier. Let's not waste any more time." Freya gestured them to her chambers. Without a word, they paced behind her, anxiously waiting for the chance to fill themselves to their hearts content.

However, instead of the usual excitement she felt whenever she found a partner/partners for the night, Freya's thoughts dwelled on the two who recently caught her interest. They were indeed a very unique pair, she could only hope they would bring about something soon.

 _'It is odd. Such a powerful feeling enraptures me. What is it about them that begs me to just take them now, sully them to my heart's content?'_

Freya smiled as the thought passed her. No, it had to be something more than just _that_. What else could it be possibly?

She moaned suddenly when the five began to grope her.

 _'No matter, in the end, what difference does it make? Watching them grow would entertain me so. No man has ever resisted my charms. And when the time comes, I would take them as my own…'_

"One day, they will be mine."

* * *

 _The next day._

 _Orario. 21st day of Imbolc, 1273_

* * *

The door to the church opened with a creak.

"You kids… come out!" Geralt called as his feet stumbled forwards. His head was spinning, and an annoying throb kept pounding at his skull.

"Come on, chop, chop." He held onto a pew to steady himself. If he fell over, he would've puked. The witcher, wearing a crown of flowers and vines, was, in every essence, very drunk. As was when downing a mixture between equal parts spirit and white gull. Funnily enough, he had all but staggered here — alone — from Mama Mia's pub, when he couldn't even keep his balance without holding onto something. But that wasn't to say he was without his fair share of 'accidents'.

There was a shift in the floorboards as he heard a pair of feet from below. Two individuals.

"Who's there?" cried the voice of a young man. He sounded to be in his young teens.

"Careful, Bell-kun, he might be dangerous!" warned the voice of another. It was undeniably feminine. Maybe his sister, perhaps even a lover?

"Damn it, kids these days… always up to… no good…" slurred the witcher as he stumbled towards the sounds of the two. His vision was all but a mess, and he could barely see straight. Geralt swore as soon as he was sober, he was going to teach them a lesson about propriety. Don't they know how inappropriate it was for a young man and woman to live together?

"Don't worry guys. It's the alcohol talking. Sir, this is—" Bell stopped.

It can't be.

"Y-You're—!"

"Bell-kun? What is it?"

"Goddess, it's _him_."

Hestia followed his dumbfounded expression. She tilted her head a bit when she saw whom Bell was pointing at.

"A witcher? Do you know him, Bell-kun?" she asked. She would admit she was a bit surprised. Not every day was there a witcher here in Orario, especially with all the competition.

"It's him, goddess. The one who saved me," he replied breathlessly.

"What? The White Wolf?" She couldn't believe her eyes.

"Hey… Found ya…" Geralt mumbled before he lost his footing. Why was he looking at the floor…?

Bell quickly caught him as he fell. He blanched. Man, was he heavy, and his breath reeked of alcohol.

Hestia almost laughed at the witcher's sorry state.

"We… we better get him to a bed…" suggested Bell hesitantly. He wasn't sure if his goddess would approve.

"I… I think it's a good idea to help him…"

Hestia scowled. There was an almost pleading look in his eyes. She may be a kind goddess, but it was a stretch to say she still wasn't cautious. There were certain boundaries in what she would allow herself to do. She didn't know this person, nor of his intentions. Plus, a witcher was a sword-for-hire, and isn't it strange he'd show up now, not long after she discovered her ward had such a rare and powerful skill? Could it be a setup to take Bell from right under her nose?

"Goddess?" Bell looked at her, confused. She sighed.

Then again, when was the last time she denied someone?

"Damn… we… we… we need some… bitches, eh Eskel?"

Both of them widened their eyes. Again. Alcohol talking.

"P-Put him on the couch. He'll just need to sleep it off," Hestia relented. She would definitely prod him later.

The Banquet would have to wait.

* * *

 _He leaned back in the tub, relishing the feeling of the water relaxing his muscles. Geralt had gone out that day to deliver another letter to the postman, hoping this time Ciri would write back sooner. Last he heard, she had been busy trying to convince Emhyr to call off his invasion on the Isles, and as stubborn as her father was, her insistence afforded very little time for herself._

 _Thinking of his ward brought about a tinge of sadness. Geralt wasn't sure when they would meet again. Perhaps their time in White Orchard marked the end. He had done everything he can to keep Ciri safe, and now she walks her own path. Were they even still bound by fate? He didn't know. But there time together, while short, made the memories even sweeter, and no matter what happened..._

 _She would always be his daughter._

 _He hummed when his nose picked up a sweet scent. He felt warmth emanate from his person, and a faint scent of lilac and gooseberries. Geralt was fond of that scent, it reminded him of his lover of yore._

 _"Are you going to sit there till midday, Geralt?"_

 _Like the song of a goddess, shaped from the calm of living far, far away from the troubles of the world, her voice was as precious as the finest jewels. Having retired to this life of peace, her tongue had calmed somewhat; no longer was there ice in her tone, her fangs having dulled._

 _"Maybe."_

 _"Well, what are we to do today?"_

 _Geralt turned to her, already expecting what to see. There was a playful, loving smile on his lips. Many things had changed over the past months. After the defeat of the Wild Hunt, it opened a new chapter in their lives, and Geralt chose to forsake life on the road in favor of being with his love._

 _It was something both dearly wished._

 _"Unless, my love, you would like to join me?"_

 _He felt a shiver go down his spine and a tingling in his fingers. The feeling of her bare skin against his touch, as smooth and delicate as a young girl, would bring a reaction out of him more personal than anything he would dare to admit. Love for her filled him utterly; he loved her more than life, more than anything. His mind and self were hers, belonging only to herself. Never would he look upon another woman again. He would always be hers. For as long as he lived and beyond, his soul would forever be bound to her._

 _"What does the lady have in mind?"_

 _"I can only imagine many things you can satisfy me with, my dear…"_

 _With an air of grace and subtlety that beheld her disposition, she stood and returned to their room with a sensual strut that would inflame even the most faithful of men, making them grovel and keel over from her beauty. It was typical of her when she wanted something from him. Whereas in public she acted with the utmost decorum, when called for she was the type who refused to hold back in her intentions. From the moment she uttered those words, it was like she was begging him to respond, to just take her then and there and ravage her like a wild beast. Well, if it was sex she wanted, he would definitely oblige, and as he followed her scent, sweet with the fragrance of lilac and gooseberries…_

 _Was a naked, beautiful woman with silver hair._

* * *

The light was almost blinding.

He had opened his eyes, but all he could see was a blur. From the moment he awoke, everything placed him in a foul mood and roused his anger. Everything. He was annoyed that stars danced in front of him because of his hangover and he was annoyed by the way his head spun with a constant throb hammering away at his skull. He could barely remember what happened last night, much less how he got here. In fact, where was he anyway?

He looked down, and saw he was left with nothing but a shirt and trousers.

Last night, he barely remembered it himself, was something he would not like to do again any time soon. While his tolerance to alcohol was heightened from his mutations, he was never completely immune and after a few rounds he would get drunk just like any other person. And while under the influence, Geralt was prone to making reckless decisions, some of which he would later come to regret. It had been a bitch to remove that damned tattoo on his neck.

He looked around for his belongings. The room was a quaint place, very humble and simple with nothing extraordinary. He wondered if those two even had much gold on them. Perhaps they were planning to auction off his belongings? He'd sooner give them a piece of his mind than allow that to happen. He was proven otherwise, however, when he spotted his steel and silver swords leaning against the wall across the room from where he slept.

It was a small relief. He's had his fair share experience of being robbed.

But where were they?

He went upstairs, feeling a growing curiosity and rising suspicion. Nothing seemed right.

"How long will you be gone, goddess?"

"Only for a few days, I won't be coming home tonight. Is that alright, Bell-kun?"

A boy and a young girl. Both were barely older than Ciri when she first came to Kaer Morhen.

"Uh, yeah? I suppose...?"

"Fufufu, what's the matter, Bell-kun? Won't you miss me?"

"Not till you tell me what's going on."

They both turned quickly and were met with the eyes of the witcher. His two swords were strapped on his back. He stood at the door to the basement, his arms folded and eyeing them with a look of suspicion. His brows were furrowed with a stern gaze and he held an air of displeasure.

How hadn't they heard him?

"H-Hey," Bell greeted, timidly. He scratched his cheek and tried to avoid Geralt's piercing, amber eyes. "When did you, um—?"

"Just got up, in fact. Funny, when I was meant to find you, I ended up here when I barely remember last night. Must've wandered around for a long time before I passed out," Geralt said.

"Yeah, you were pretty bad..."

"I'd imagine. Long time no see, kid. Still staying out of trouble?"

Bell looked up. There was a small hint of familiarity in Geralt's eyes, like he was meeting up with an old acquaintance, but also surprise as if fate had predicted this meeting. Last time they met, Bell had been a little kid, and he doubted they would ever see each other again.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Bell said. "That day, when you saved me, I've never forgotten it. Actually, it made me want to become stronger, to become…" He blushed.

"T-To be as cool as you…"

He was hesitant to admit it, but it was the truth. Bell had idolized the witcher and thought highly of him like the heroes of old. Despite knowing of their profession, he couldn't help but feel a sense of respect for them, how they protected innocent people from monsters and slay beasts no normal man could hope to match. Their strength and skill was something Bell would like to aspire to.

Geralt sent a blank look to the boy whose youthful eyes looked to the ground like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "What do you think's so good about me?" he asked.

"Uhhh… you fight monsters?"

His weak reply made Geralt sigh.

"Boy, that's not good enough. You obviously haven't been educated enough about the world and still have a simple idea of things. Violence is never something to idolize, much less look forward to. In battle, there's no honor or acts of heroism, you focus on one thing, killing the other guy one at a time until you manage to get out alive. You think it's so simple fighting monsters? Heh," he laughs. "What is a monster nowadays? I see nothing's changed."

A disappointed look was cast upon Bell who – abashed – looked away as Geralt shook his head disapprovingly. Hestia watched her ward slump his shoulders and felt her heart reach out to him. She pitied him. While he still had an innocent view of the world, it had an appealing charm that brought out his good side. One of his most defining traits was how noble Bell acted towards anyone, stranger or not he wasn't afraid to lend a generous hand.

It was because of this Hestia refused to reveal Bell's mysterious skill. Realis Phrase. She had never heard of it before, a rare skill that bestows extreme growth beyond comprehension. Not only would it certainly attract the attention of other gods, but could potentially bring about a change to the one she cherished most. Possibly not for the better.

She hoped it would never come to that.

In the long run, it was good for him. If he didn't know, he wouldn't put limits on himself and work harder each day.

"Tell me, Geralt, instead of talking about what's wrong with Bell, what are _you_ then?" Hestia questioned.

"Me? I'm a witcher. A monster slayer."

"Don't play dumb. I'm asking you what are you. You've got nothing to hide, right? You come in here judging us thinking you're so high and mighty, when we barely know anything about you. In fact, you don't even know who I am, do you?"

"Why does it matter?"

"What?! You insolent—! Do not ignore me! I'm not some little girl you can just bully around. You better watch your tongue, before you say something you'll regret."

"Hmph, fine, whatever. Just don't get in my way."

"Why I never— do you know who I am?! I won't stand for this! I am Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home. With a single word I can utter curses that'll leave you miserable for the rest of your life. Right now, you're sitting on a fine line, mister. Do not tempt me to do that."

They gave each other intense looks, both daring the other to challenge his/her authority. It was almost comical, the petite child-like goddess refused to back down. Geralt was used to powerful women, but he was smart enough to know when not to cross the boundaries. Especially this individual, who was different than any being he had encountered before.

A literal living, breathing god.

"Do what you want. My job is to help the kid; doing something to me won't bring any good to you. Think I'm here out of my own free will? No, if I wanted, I could walk out of this contract, but I have my own reasons for this and it doesn't concern you. As long as I get the job done, I don't care about your opinion."

"Oooh! S-Stupid jerk! Fine, not that I care!"

"Goddess…"

"Shut it, Bell, I'm not finished. You!" Hestia pointed at Geralt. "As long as you know who Bell really is — I don't care what you do. You come here thinking he's just some stupid kid, when in fact all he wants is people not to look down on him. Don't you think that's something to admire? Everyone has a reason for anything. Killing monsters is something no person, even for someone like you, would do so willingly."

"And you're right," Geralt snorts. "I don't fight for glory, justice, or gold. I don't care about those things. I fight for those I care about."

Without warning, he reached for his back and, sword in hand, released the weapon from his sheathe and held it to his side.

"G-Geralt?!" Bell exclaimed. He took a step back.

"Come with me, I want to see how well you fare with a blade," he said and strolled to the front entrance of the Church. "This'll tell me how much work I need to do. Think of it as your first lesson."

He opened the large wooden doors and walked outside.

Bell decided to follow him.

"Wait, Bell-kun," Hestia called, stopping him as she grabbed his arm. There was a dumbfounded look on his face.

"What is it, Goddess?"

She looked away bashfully.

"Just… just be careful. I don't trust that man. Not one bit. He's dangerous, like, the type you'd avoid no matter what. It's rubbing me the wrong way. Do you really think he's here to help you?"

"I…" He frowned, hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Hmm, exactly. Who really is he? What does he want? Those types of people… they're trouble. I don't like it. Please, just watch yourself. I'll be there with you. If you think he's going to do something wrong, just run and I'll get help."

There was a pleading look in her eyes. It was something Bell loved about her. She always looked out for him, no matter what and in turn, he would do anything for her. It was a mutual trust built upon similar individuals, who both desired the same thing. Plus, he owed her more than she would like to admit. She gave him purpose, a chance to fulfil his dream.

Bell nodded.

"Alright. Don't worry, goddess. I promise, nothing's going to happen."

"I-If you say so. Good luck."

* * *

He steeled himself; he was prepared for what the witcher had in store for him. Sweat flowed down his brow and the strain in his muscles was aching—

"What's with that stupid look on your face?"

Bell remained vigilant. He wasn't going to show any form of weakness in case it could be exploited. In a battle, every move you made, no matter how small, affects the outcome. Death by a thousand cuts. It was a common tactic, every small detail bridging a story that leads to a grand finale. He had to be precise and careful of his actions, careful not to overexert himself or be caught in the moment, else it would lead to his defeat. His opponent was a legend, after all.

"Ready? I'll make the first move."

He barely blinked when the witcher advanced upon him.

"Damn!" Bell cursed as his knife blocked Geralt's sword. He felt his arm buckle under the pressure and a sharp jolt ran through his arm as his body registered the power behind his swing. What was this guy made of? Stone? How on earth did he possess such attack power? The impact was like getting hit with the force of a mounted knight charging at him with his lance, and Bell could've sworn if he had been any less prepared the bones in his arm would've broke.

"React quicker! Pirouette, strike, counter-strike!"

Bell did as instructed and twisted his body around the witcher, then attempted to plunge his blade into his ribs.

"Too slow!" Geralt cried as he parried the knife away.

Seeing an opening, Bell attempted to snatch onto the opportunity. As he was right-handed and thus wielded his sword in his dominant hand, he could see the witcher was exposed on his right side as Bell had forced him to parry his blade, and now there was a chance for him to end the duel…

Bell spun and used the momentum to fuel his attack.

His mistake made Geralt give him a small shake of his head.

"You're too open. Never let down your guard."

He stepped back; avoiding the possibly fatal hit, then stepped forward and used his shoulder to shove Bell into the ground.

"Ack!"

A sword was pointed to his throat.

"You never show your back to the enemy. If he's disoriented or focused somewhere else, that's fine, as he can't counterattack, but see how I'm aware and could tell what you were doing? You exposed yourself too much. I'll have to teach you how to confuse your opponents."

Bell swallowed. "R-Right…" he said, wincing as he tried to stand. They've been going at it for six hours already and the sun was beginning to set. His weary body screamed for rest, and what he would give right now to have a break. Geralt lent out a hand and helped him up.

"That's enough for today. You're barely a novice in some areas, and most I'm going to have to teach you the basics. I don't want you slacking off in any way, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"We'll be doing this again tomorrow morning. Next time, though, you'll be using a sword. Knives may be useful, but I can't say they're versatile. There are too many flaws with their length and power. Against monsters, getting too close puts too much risk. I want you practicing with a sword from now on."

"Would it be alright if I stayed here for the time being?"

His question wasn't directed at him, but to the goddess who watched them from the background. Hestia eyed the witcher skeptically, still unsure of his intentions. While the past few hours he was nothing but helpful, and dare she say it, almost like a mentor to her ward, there was something about him that felt off. An enigma who seemed like a magnet for trouble. She felt it right to be cautious, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. Normally, she was more open to people, including strangers, but this one in particular had an air of uncertainty that made her suspicious of him. She wondered why Bell hadn't picked up on it yet.

Meanwhile, Bell looked to her as if coaxing her for a response. While he wouldn't mind, it wasn't his call. In these kinds of things, he would let his goddess have the final say. As the leader of the familia, she would be responsible for anything their actions may involve or result in. Although he wondered, if he was to stay with them, that meant Geralt was going to have the couch…

A blush immediately formed on his face as the thought dawned on him. T-that meant…

"Tsk, fine. But if you do anything funny…"

Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Thanks. Now go get some rest, Bell. I expect you to be in the best condition tomorrow."

He sheathed his sword and walked back into the church, leaving the two to themselves. Hestia harrumphed and soon followed. She had somewhere to be tonight.

"I'll be busy for a while, Bell-kun. The Banquet of the Gods is tonight. I might be gone for a few days, is that alright for you?"

Bell shrugged. "It's fine, goddess. I bet Geralt's gonna work me hard to the ground anyway." He shivered. "I'd rather not think about it, actually."

"Hey, you agreed. It's your fault you got into this."

"True, but he could still loosen up a little…"

Hestia crossed her arms under her chest. "What do you expect of witchers? They've been raised to fight. You're lucky he isn't putting you through what he did. Do you know what they do to them while they're kids?"

"Err, I've got no clue. Sorry."

"Well, from what I know, as children, young witchers are trained and their bodies mutated extensively through alchemy and from certain alchemical compounds in order to hunt and kill monsters. It's said their mutations strip them of their emotions, but give them abilities far exceeding human limits and superhuman senses, like seeing in the dark. That's why he's so fast, and why his hits felt like you've been hit with the strength of ten men. They are literal mutants, built for combat and highly versatile against any opponent. But not everyone survives the mutations, and I've heard less than half ever become witchers. It's a waste, and a sad thing especially when they've spent years preparing for it. In a way, it's a relief their order is now slowly dying out. An end to needless deaths."

"So you see? Why I don't trust him? Witchers are people of violence, hired killers who are designed and trained to take a life in the most efficient way possible. They're dangerous."

The information hung in the air for a few moments as Bell tried to take it in. He had never known of their history, what made them powerful. It sounded almost unfair, but in truth, he'd rather not be like them. He felt pity for his new teacher. This is what he went through? What made him what he is? How many people, friends even, did he never see again after they had undergone their own transformation? It was almost heart-breaking, and something he would rather not have to face. Witchers were really tragic beings.

"I understand. I can't imagine that, to die when you've achieved nothing. But I think you're wrong, goddess, in not believing in him."

She frowned. "And why's that?"

"I don't think all of them are dangerous. It's a feeling I have, I think… Geralt only wants what's best for me. I don't know, maybe he sees potential in me?"

"Perhaps, but unless he does something to change my mind, I'm still not comfortable with him around." She began to walk to the church. "Anyway, take care of yourself, and don't overdo it like you always do. You expect too much of yourself when there's always time to improve."

"Heheh, yeah, I'll make sure. That reminds me, yesterday—Oh!" Bell widened his eyes and immediately an acute panic struck him. He instantly broke into a cold sweat. He just remembered… she was going to kill him.

"Crap! That's it! I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead!"

"What's the matter!?"

"I forgot to pay!"

* * *

"I'm sorry!"

All eyes in the restaurant were on him as Bell bowed his head as low as possible.

"Forgive me, please!"

He was begging now. Any further wrongdoing would only intensify her wrath. The proprietress was a giant of a woman, whose intimidating size dwarfed most men, and she wore a white apron over a blue dress. A deep scowl was on her face.

"I ran off earlier without paying. I-I've got the money. Here."

He handed out a fairly large sack of coins. "This is everything I owe you. Please, I didn't mean anything by, I would never cheat!"

"Hmph, well, at least your honest. While I'm glad you came here to pay your bill, I was going to hunt you down anyway, whether you liked it or not."

There was a brutal honesty to her words. It was enough to convince anyone she wasn't lying nor holding back. To preserve what dignity he had left, Bell had to stop himself from shrieking. Mama Mia was truly a fearsome woman.

"Ahh— uhh, f-forgive me!"

"Bell-san, it's alright," chastised the sweet voice of a beautiful girl who watched him in amusement. She was one of the waitresses of the restaurant, and she was wearing the same uniform as the proprietress except underneath was a green blouse instead of blue. She had smooth, milky white skin, and on her head was a frilly headdress that sat on top of her light, bluish grey hair that matched the color of her eyes.

"Huh?" Bell replied dumbly.

"Actually," the girl blushed. "I'm glad you came back. Have you already gone to the dungeon today?"

"No, not yet, I haven't had the chance. I've got a guest at home."

"Oh! Is it a relative?"

"More like an old friend."

"That's exciting! Then you wouldn't mind if I gave you this?"

She pulled out a small item which she kept hidden behind her back.

"I made you lunch, but I suppose it's dinner for you now," she said, another blush forming on her face.

Bell completely missed the hint.

"Really? Syr, you didn't have to do that. Seriously, I can't take this." It was amazing how it was possible. No one was sure whether he was really that oblivious, or was just actively ignoring her. Either way, it astounded everyone. Of all the people…

"Please? I'll really, really appreciate it if you do. Or is because you really can't…?"

"N-No! Of course not, it's because, ah," Bell laughs. "Actually, don't worry about it. Thanks, Syr."

"No problem!" she said, handing the lunchbox to him happily. "I'll see you later, Bell-san!"

She ran into the kitchen with a spring in her step, delighted he received her gift. One lesson she learned from the past, a way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Bell watched her go and couldn't help but feel warm from how happy she was. Syr was definitely an interesting individual.

"So, this friend of yours, is it the witcher?"

"What?! How did you know?"

Mama Mia smirked. "He was here yesterday, in fact, he really lets go of everything when he's drunk."

"You don't mean—"

"No, not what you're thinking," she laughs. "But it's quite a sight to see the hardy and fearsome witcher being a drunken wreck. I had to stop him before he got worse. His drinking buddy, though, you can tell him to blame him for it."

Mama Mia chuckled as Bell imagined what Geralt must've been like. He was a mess when he came to them, and Bell had been the one to clean him up. It wasn't pleasant, he remembered him spewing every hour.

"Anyway, make sure to thank Syr. We only forgave you because she persuaded us. I'll hate to be you if any of us find out you did something wrong to her…"

"Y-Yep, no worries," Bell replied hesitantly.

"A little piece of advice too before you go," Mama Mia said. She placed her hands on her hips. "There's no point in you trying to be someone you're not. As a novice, you should focus on surviving the dungeons."

There was silence as Bell began to listen intently.

"It doesn't matter if you're weak, or if they insult you, don't listen to their opinions. Just be yourself, and always remember to come back alive, that's what's important."

She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a soft look. "There are people who care about you. I know you hate being weak, but everyone was at some point in your shoes once. Even the best. You think Geralt wasn't the same? I'm sure one time, long ago, he was just as helpless as you are. So focus on getting out in one piece when you're done. Don't let the dungeon consume you."

"Now that I've told you this, even if you die, you won't be done with me. Everyone in my restaurant will never forgive you, especially Syr. Now go!" she said, pushing him forward. "We've got work and you're in the way! Bring the witcher with you next time you come back, okay? Tell him I'd like to hear more of his stories!"

"Will do, good night!"

"Good night, kid!"

* * *

The Banquet of the Gods was truly a grand event. Not only were it filled with real deities who now walked the earth alongside men, but individuals of prominent fame and wealth were all gathered together to partake in this highly prestigious social gathering. To the normal populace, it would be an honor to be at this event, as it would be a sign they were considered a part of society's elite. A truly rare chance for mortals to mingle with divine beings personally. Gods, however, have exclusive rights to be here no matter what, and no matter what social standing, as in the end, they were all equal.

A great statue of an elephant lay in the middle of a room. It was actually a fountain of sorts, with water coming out of the marbled trunks. Elephants, in the Hindu religion, were a symbol of one of the most-well known and most worshipped deities in the Hindu pantheon. In fact, the host of the Banquet was none other than the Elephant God himself. Ganesha, the God of the Masses, as he is known to mortals, is reputed to be one of the most wealthiest gods to have descended, and is a popular figure in society.

"My friends! How glad I am many of you are here tonight!"

"He's at it again. I can't believe he has that much energy..."

"You bet, and look! Lord Hermes is back from his journey."

"Hey, guys, now that's what we've been waiting for!"

Three men sat with themselves, drinks in their hands as they turned to look at a beauty so dazzling, the image of her radiance was enough for them to think they would sully her image with their unworthy eyes. Freya, the Goddess of Beauty, finally made her appearance after much anticipation.

"Lady Freya…" they all moaned. She descended down the stairs with an ethereal grace so natural, it looked impossible. She was wearing a long, white dress with a cut in the front that travelled just above her navel, exposing her buxom and perfect cleavage while also exposing a large portion of her shoulders and smooth, creamy white skin as light as snow. Around her neck was a purple neckpiece and gold amulet worth as much as the finest jewels, and her slim, yet tall and exquisitely curvy figure was that of sensuality and elegance.

Freya, noticing something amusing in the corner of her eyes, saw a familiar face she hadn't seen in a while.

"Wow, it's impossible…"

"This is the power of a god?"

As onlookers continued to stare in wonder and awe, Freya walked to the person who caught her interest.

"Good evening, Hestia."

She nearly jumped in surprise.

"Freya?" Hestia said while nibbling on a dumpling.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, amused. She was looking at the plastic container in her fellow goddess' hands.

"No, I'm just not comfortable when you're around."

"Oh? I'm hurt, my dear. Don't I mean anything to you?"

"Well… no offence, it's not like I have anything against you, but we didn't really talk to each other much in Heaven. Still, I like you more than others," Hestia said, watching as a certain someone was approaching them rather quickly.

"Hey, Freya!"

"Greetings, Loki. It's good to see you."

"Freya, it's been so long!" Loki remarked. She didn't forget, however, the petite goddess who gave her a dirty look. "Sup, shrimp."

"What're you doing here, Loki?"

"Whaddaya mean? Do I need permission to be here or something?" she retorts. Like Freya, Loki was dressed rather extravagantly, wearing large, emerald earrings and a gold necklace along with a long, black dress that exposed much of her back and shoulders. Her hair was put up in a stylish bun with a gold headpiece to keep it in place, and gold bangles and rings adorned her arms and fingers. However, unlike Freya, while Loki was admittedly attractive, she didn't possess the same immaculate beauty.

"Pfft, stop playing stupid. Anyway, you being here right now is perfect! I was going to ask you something."

"What's that?"

"That girl you treasure so much, what's her name again?"

"You mean Aiz?"

"Yeah, her. She's not… 'seeing' anyone lately, is she?"

A dark look came across Loki's face. "Why? Like I would let anyone touch my Aiz." She nudged her face closer to Hestia's to emphasize the point. "You know something I don't?"

"N-No, of course not!"

"What're you hiding, shrimp!"

The two butted heads with each other. Among the deities, their rivalry was well known. It came about eons ago, back when they were in Heaven. While it hadn't been because of vengeance or of the similar sort, there were several factors which fuelled their mutual dislike of each other. One in particular was that Loki was a Goddess of Trickery, while Hestia, being a humble goddess, was never impressed with her antics and thought of her as some immature tomboy. But the most prominent aspect was actually down to something much more personal…

"It's so amazing you two are such great friends~"

"Hah! You're almost as bad as Aphrodite. Stupid airhead Freya!"

"Hey! Little punk! Who do you think you're talking to?!"

"Anyway, Loki," Freya began. "It's been so long since I've seen you like this. That dress looks beautiful on you, my dear."

"Thanks!" Loki said, suddenly standing up straight causing Hestia to fall face first. "When I heard this poor sod was coming to the feast, I just had to make an impression. What kind of god can't even afford a dress?"

Hestia smirked.

"Huh, brag all you want, I've got something even money can't buy."

Loki widened her eyes. "You wouldn't—!"

"Come on, who would even look at you with that flat chest of yours!"

The bomb had been dropped.

"I-I'll… I'LL KILL YOU, BRAT!"

"Is it always like this when you guys see each other?"

"Hephaestus?!"

The Blacksmith Goddess, Hephaestus, came from the same Greek Pantheon as Hestia. Thus, they were close, almost like siblings, but the funny thing was they were actually related by blood. Although, that was something they'd rather not talk about and a story for another time. They were rather infamous for it, truth be told, and it had created too many headaches. Plus, there were also the ongoing 'issues' within their family.

Each time they wondered why they had let _him_ run things.

Hephaestus had a disappointed look on her face. A wine glass was in her hand, and she was dressed in a red gown that accentuated her large breasts, leaving plenty of cleavage to swoon or seduce any man.

Loki scoffed. A crowd had begun to gather around them. "You're lucky, shrimp. I'll let go of this for now. But next time, I won't be as merciful, you hear me? And get yourself a better dress next time, it's embarrassing to be seen next to you."

She trudged off with a snarl, her face beet red. Groups of people would separate as Loki walked past, careful not to get in her way. The issue with her chest was a sensitive topic for her, and she hated it whenever it was mentioned. It irked her so, enough for her to grow red with envy towards the other goddess', especially someone as small and petite as Hestia. How was someone like her able to grow melons that big, when she didn't even reach her shoulders?

"Yeah? Grow some boobs then, you flat-chested bitch!" Hestia called back. She turned to her old friend.

"Hephaestus! I've been wanting to see you!"

"What is it now, Hestia? More money again?" Hephaestus sighed.

"N-No way! I'm my own woman now, I can take care of myself! W-What gave you that idea?!"

"Yeah right. If we didn't kick you out you'd still be mooching off of us. Do you know how much it costs, having you around doing nothing? Then you came running back when you can't find anyone to help you. So am I wrong to assume that?"

"But I've changed! I'm not what I used to be, I've even got my own familia!" Hestia said rather proudly. Wait, would he even count?

"True, it's that kid, right? And I've heard you even got the famed Geralt of Rivia with you. Be careful with that guy, he's got a… legendary… reputation with women."

Freya's eyes shined brightly for a moment.

"But it still doesn't excuse you. I know you well enough, Hestia. You have to prove it to me first. I want to see what makes you different from before."

"Tsk, you're so mean, Hephaestus!"

As they bickered like a pair of siblings, Freya stood next to them and opted to remain silent as she watched with amused interest. While they weren't friends, she still appreciated their company. Suddenly, one of her bodyguards approached her and whispered something to her ear.

"Hestia, Hephaestus… I apologize but while I did enjoy this little reunion, I must take my leave."

"You're going already, Freya?" Hestia asked.

"I'm sorry, there was something I wanted to check up on, but it's fine now. And I've already had my fun with some… interesting individuals. See you."

 _'Yup, just like Aphrodite…'_ The two Greek goddess' thought to themselves as they watched her go. Seriously, these types, they really do indulge themselves in their inhibitions. It's like they didn't have any self-control. They were glad they weren't the same.

Although, it would be a bit of fun every now and then…

"So what do you want, Hestia? You're already threading a thin line with me…" Hephaestus said ominously.

Hestia gulped.

"I—It's actually a pretty big favor…"

Hephaestus grew an even darker look.

"Name it."

Hestia steeled herself. A request of this magnitude didn't come without cost.

"I want you to make a weapon for Bell!"

* * *

EDIT 1: One of the reviewers mentioned a few problems he needed clarification for. To those who were thinking the same thing, I would happily clear up any inconsistencies.

Replying Godzillaslayer101 and for those wondering, I'm basing this Geralt on how I, myself the player, interpreted things from the Witcher 3 in my own playthrough. I haven't read the books, so I'm learning as I go. I always imagined Geralt as some gruff guy who gives out tough love, but still means well. And at times he can even be soft and warm, but when you're training you obviously don't want to do that else you make the trainee complacent and lazy. In regards to the power levels of the characters, this is the most annoying bit, since animes are, most of the time, way over the top, I want Geralt to be a challenge for anyone. In anime, there are instances when characters move in 'Mach-like' speeds. Honestly, I don't like this, so this will be toned down so as to establish a level of realism, because no one can move that fast. Of course, since it is a fantasy setting there will be extraordinary feats, but not to the extent like 'Final Fantasy-esque' where characters are literally _flying_ when they jump. It'll be like Batman, trained to the peak of human perfection.

For the Gods views on witchers, well, it's really up to them honestly. They're immortal, so it doesn't matter to them. I'll say this though, some gods/goddess like witchers because of their effectiveness in killing monsters, especially those who wander the surface and terrorise villages, and they admire the fact mortals found methods to solve their own problems without a god's blessing. Others, not so much, since there are adventurers who can do the monster slaying job anyway.

As a last line of defence, uh, I think adventurers are considered that? That wasn't explained much in the anime, so I think if it's up to your interpretation, and if you're thinking how it affects witchers, well, it just means more monsters to kill for them. Otherwise, you could say they are, as without adventurers, no one would be going down to the dungeons and killing monsters giving them a chance to spread on the surface.

The Conjunction of the Spheres was actually something I forgot about, hahah. Especially in the regards to the timeline. But the Conjunction was the time when the gods arrived on earth and when magic came about. Basically everything that happened in regards to the Witcher lore.

I'm still not sure if Bell will have a harem, but Aiz is definitely his main love interest.


End file.
